


Old Magic

by DHW



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9961196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/pseuds/DHW
Summary: The damage to his voice had remained, rendering him silent. Mute.And perhaps that was why he loved to listen to her. Hermione. Why her voice, so commanding, precise, the cadences so like his own, had such an effect upon him.---Written for the HP_KINKFEST (2017)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lena1987](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lena1987/gifts).



> Written for the HP_KINKFEST (2017) - Prompt H11, _Her_ Voice, submitted by Lena1987.
> 
> This wasn’t initially the fic I had planned, but it is what happened. Hopefully I’ve managed to do the voice kink some small justice. 
> 
> The Norrønt text comes from the songs Solringen and AnsuR by Wardruna. Translations at the end of the fic.

The moon was full. 

Nestled in a patch of twinkling stars, it shone down upon the clearing, its silvery light casting shadows amongst the trees that surrounded them. In the distance, he could hear the howl of a wolf, the shriek of an owl. Beside him he could hear her breathing. 

Professor Granger. Hermione. 

The lingering scent of a hot summer’s day filled the air, the silvery grass bone dry beneath his feet. They were bare. 

“Magic takes many forms,” she said, her voice low and quiet. “What you and I teach here, Headmaster, is merely the tip of a vast iceberg.”

Severus felt a frission of electricity roll across his skin at the sound of her voice, so familiar and feminine, her lips merely inches from his ear. He did not turn to face her, instead gazing out across the clearing, concentrating on the feeling of her breath against his skin and the grass between his toes.

“Granted,” she continued, “we are predominantly preoccupied with instruction in the more basic aspects of spell and potion craft. One must, of course, learn to walk before attempting to run.”

Clouds, dark and heavy with impending rain, rolled overhead, obscuring the light of the moon, casting the clearing into shadow. The air was heavy, thick, almost sparking with energy. The calm before the storm. 

“However, the sum total of human knowledge does not end with that which we learn for our NEWTS,” she said, the tone precise. “There are ways and means of bending our power, and the power of others, to our will beyond simple vocalisations and wand shapes.”

There came the smallest of sounds: the dry crunch of grass beneath shifting feet. But Severus did not turn. He merely listened to her speak, letting her words wash over him, listening to her voice ebb and flow with the rhythm of her speech. It was mesmerising. Intoxicating. 

“It is through these alternative means that we may achieve the capacity to perform the impossible.” A beat. “To find that which may be irrevocably lost.” Another. “To fix that which cannot be repaired.”

The air around him shifted and he felt the lightest of touches against his neck. The press of a finger, barely there, almost as though imagined. He shivered at the contact. 

“To heal even the oldest of wounds.”

Severus swallowed, feeling a familiar tightness at his throat as he did so. It had taken ten years for his scars to fade, becoming little more than silver threads woven into the fabric of his skin, but he had not healed. The damage to his voice had remained, rendering him silent. Mute. 

And perhaps that was why he loved to listen to her. Hermione. Why her voice, so commanding, precise, the cadences so like his own, had such an effect upon him. 

“Have you ever thought about why we use Latin to verbalise our spells?” she asked, the question cutting through his thoughts. 

He shook his head. 

“The language itself is not inherently magical,” she said, her tone slipping into that she used for teaching. Louder now. Clear, sharp, enchanting. “There was magic long before the rise of the Roman Empire. And indeed, modern magic is not limited merely to those cultures exposed to Roman influence. China, for example, has a long history of magical study, stretching back millennia. Similarly, there is evidence to suggest advanced magic usage amongst the ancient Phoenicians, long before the rise of Rome. Clearly the language used to cast is not important, yet we use Latin words and phrases as standard. Why?”

Severus tilted his head in question, his gaze still fixed upon the distant trees, now able to see only a mere suggestion of their form against the darkness. Beside him, he felt her shift once more, felt the heat of her against his skin, through his shirt, as she moved closer. 

“The words, Headmaster, allow us to exert control upon the magic, bend it and bind it to our will as we cast.” He felt the brief touch of her fingertips against his lips, then his hands. “The wand acts as a focal point, channelling the power into a discrete beam we can direct via a mere flick of the wrist.”

Fire burned in his veins at her touch, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through him. He took a deep breath, the scent of her almost overwhelming. So familiar, carrying a hint of jasmine and bergamot and something that was uniquely her. 

“But these things are not essential for all spells. The fact that we have the capacity to learn cast both non-verbally and wandless teaches us so.” He felt the touch of fingers against his throat, heard her voice lower. “Thusly, the loss of your voice has not rendered you _impotent_.”

A smirk curled his lips at her emphasis, at the implication. She was obviously aware of the effect she had on him – an idea that made him shift, his heart pounding, as the tension in his groin tightened. He felt her touch grow bolder, her fingers tracing the shape of his jaw, the shell of his ear. 

“It has, however, limited your casting abilities to previously studied spells.”

Her touch disappeared. And when she spoke again, her voice had returned to that precise, clipped tone she used in her lessons. 

“This leads to the conclusion that it is not the language itself that allows us to cast, but instead that we use words to subconsciously shape and mould the form of our spell, and without the ability to vocalise, learning new forms is almost impossible. But why do we use Latin? And, in doing so, do we limit ourselves to specific forms and therefore specific outcomes?” 

A sigh. 

“In terms of the first question, the simple answer is that it is a dead language, and therefore the words we employ are not assigned in our subconscious to specific items and concepts, as with, say, English,” she told him. He could hear the smile on her lips. “This can be inferred from the relatively recent adoption of Latin as the global casting standard. Indeed, go back only a hundred years, and we find that a wide variety of languages, both dead and extant, were used.” 

Severus motioned for her to continue.

“As for the answer to the second question, to truly understand, one must look deeper into the origins of magic.” 

He felt her move behind him, heard the crunch of grass beneath her bare feet. 

“Where does it come from? How do we command it? Is it inherent, or are we merely conduits for another, greater source of magical power?” A thoughtful pause. “Is our power our own or taken, stolen?”

Severus let his eyes fall closed, listening intently as she circled him, unwilling to meet her gaze lest she see the extent of his desire for her. For a moment he wished for his robes, their concealing nature. 

“There is a great deal of evidence to suggest that we each possess our own internal magical reservoir. And from spells such as the Unforgivables and the Patronus charm, we can infer that the quantity of magic drawn from this reservoir per spell is primarily determined by our emotions.”

A pause, the only sound that of her breathing, somewhat unsteady, as she circled him. Severus shivered, a wave of heat rolling through his body. 

“Happiness. Sadness. Anger. Hate. Love.” A beat. “Desire.”

His eyes snapped open, meeting her gaze. Even in the darkness, he could see the dilation of her pupils, the flush at her cheeks. His heart skipped a beat, the muscles of his belly twisting sharply with need. 

“As you well know,” she continued, her voice still calm, authoritative, holding none of the desire he saw in her face, “the most powerful lust potions require some element of sexual congress to be undertaken during the brewing process. This is also true, to a certain extent, for the casting of charms of a similar nature.” 

Severus swallowed and dropped his gaze, trembling. 

“But what of the power of others?” she continued, beginning to circle once more. “It is said that Viking Mages were of the belief that there is power in all things. That every living creature, every object, has some form of magical reservoir within them, and that witches and wizards differ only from muggles in that they have the ability to access this power.”

Breathing deeply, his mind hazy with lust, he fought to regain control. They were here, in the Forbidden Forest, for a reason – it would not do to lose sight of that now. Blinking, he turned his attention back to his Charms Professor, Hermione, trying desperately to follow the conversation. 

“They believed, given mastery of the correct form and an appropriate conduit, that such power could be tapped into by an external source, allowing the wielder to perform such feats of magic unimaginable to the modern witch or wizard,” she said. “An art which has subsequently been lost to us.”

Severus felt the delicate touch of her hand at his jaw, yielded as she lifted his chin, his gaze meeting hers once more. Swallowing, his throat tight, he leaned into the touch. 

“An art lost until, believing this to the be answer to what ails you, I began to look.”

Forehead creasing into a questioning frown, he watched a self-satisfied smile creep over her delicate features. 

“This we know,” she said, “the damage to your vocal chords cannot be healed through normal means. There is no witch or wizard strong enough to overcome the counter effects of the venom.” She smiled, her hand moving to cup his cheek, the pad of her thumb tracing the hollow. “But what if we could borrow power? What if, in knowing the correct form, in providing a strong enough conduit to focus that power, we could heal you? Regain your voice?”

His breath caught in his chest at the suggestion. Her hand travelled lower, coming to rest upon his breast, over his heart. 

“What we understand is that a successful spell has three essential requirements: a magical source, a form and a focal point, usually served by our own internal reservoir, a Latin enchantment and a wand, respectively.”

A second hand joined the first.

“But what if we changed that? What if I could draw from the earth? Draw enough power to heal you?”

Severus swallowed thickly. His dark eyes searched her face, taking note of the slight hesitance, insecurity, he found there. 

“You must understand that I cannot guarantee the success of this venture.”

He nodded. 

“And it could be dangerous,” she told him, her hazel eyes serious. “No matter the outcome, it will change things between us.”

He quirked a dark eyebrow in question. 

“A wand will not be strong enough to accurately wield such power,” she answered. “Its focal point is too narrow. Instead, the focus must be more diffuse, such as through the hands, with multiple points of interaction.” A faint blush coloured her cheeks. “Acts of a more intimate nature are traditional, as they allow for optimal skin to skin contact.”

Severus felt his cheeks flush at the implication, the simmering excitement in his body surging and sparking. She was offering herself to him. Her body. Her power. It was a heady thought; one that made him want to press his palm against the thick length of his cock, relieve the ache that had settled there. 

“There can be no barriers,” she said, her gaze meaningful. “And, given where the magic will be drawn from, it may have… other consequences.”

He thought for a moment. 

The earth. 

Life. 

He inhaled sharply, the image of Hermione, her form rounded with his child, flashed before his eyes. It did nothing to assuage his desire for her, serving only to heighten it. He blinked, forcing himself to think clearly. 

Was regaining the use of his voice worth the potential consequences?

The consequences in question could be far reaching, especially considering the unusual nature of their beginning. But it seemed Hermione thought so; else she would not have offered. He weighed the circumstances in his mind. They were a matched set, intellectual equals, stable and pragmatic. Many worked with less. 

He bowed his head in consent. 

“Good.” She nodded once, a determined look upon her face. “Then we begin.”

Her hands dropped from their place upon his chest. 

_“Heil sia in fiolnyta fold [1],”_ she said, lifting her hands to the darknened sky. 

A crack of thunder rent the air, followed by a bright flash of lightning. The air around them was heavy with magic, the sparks pricking at Severus’ skin like static. 

_“Avl i jordi [2].”_

Where she touched the grass, it grew thick and lush, the green blades creeping up between her toes, vines twining around her feet. He watched as they blossomed, even in the darkness, their stark white flowers releasing a heady scent.

_“Avl i bringa [3].”_

Another crack of thunder, louder this time. Rain began to fall in fat droplets, pounding down upon the clearing, upon the pair, soaking them to the bone. Lightening flashed, the bright white bolt casting their surroundings into stark relief. 

_“Avl i jordi. Avl i bringa. Avl i jordi. Avl i bringa. Avl i jordi. Avl i bringa.”_

Severus smoothed his hair, wet with rain, back from his face. He watched, mesmerised, as Hermione’s skin began to glow, the caramel-colour of it becoming almost golden. Continuing her chant, her lithe form swaying with the rhythm of it, her voice began to deepen, take on a lilting, almost song-like quality. 

Thunder. 

Lightening. 

A hand shot out, grabbing the front of his shirt, pulling him down on top of her has she dropped to the ground. 

“Now,” she whispered in his ear, before continuing her chant, “Do it now.”

Severus drew back, gently pushing her thighs wider as he settled between them, kneeling. She felt electric beneath his touch, her skin almost humming with power, with magic. Severus closed his eyes for a moment, delighting in the sensation. He smiled. 

Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut as gripped her ankles, his thumbs stroking the velvet skin stretched taught across the bone. Breathing deeply, Severus’ hands began to move higher, revelling in the feel of her, her rain-slicked skin hot beneath his palms. Slowly, carefully, he smoothed his hands up her calves to her thighs, pushing back the dark fabric of her skirt, exposing her bare sex to the night air. 

His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of her, her sweet and musky arousal mixing with the fresh aroma of grass and rain. Dark eyes fluttering closed, he pressed his cheek against the inside of her knee, delighting in the gasps and moans she emitted as he nipped and suckled the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

He could hear her chanting, her voice low and rough.

 _“Avl i jordi. Avl i bringa.”_

Though unaware of the meaning, Severus felt himself grow harder at the sound of desire so evident in her voice as she spoke the words, the thick press of his cock against the damp fabric of his trousers becoming ever more insistent. Resisting the urge to relieve himself, he smoothed his palms up the inside of her golden thighs.

He felt her shudder as the tips of his fingers brushed lightly against her sex. It was the lightest of touches, barely there, his skilful hands teasing her with ghost of a caress. Severus watched as her fingertips dug into the grass, her delicate hands curling as she lost herself to the pleasure of his touch. A breathy groan interrupted her chanting. 

No sooner had the noise left her lips than his mouth was upon her. Severus heard her bite back a moan as he pressed the flat of his tongue against her, drawing it up across her sex in one long, torturous lick. His fingertips traced the crease of her thighs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Slowly, they moved over her centre, lightly circling her entrance as his mouth latched onto her throbbing clit. He swirled his tongue over the sensitive bud before releasing it, his fingers moving back to the crease of her thighs as he drew his tongue up across her sex once more. 

She gasped as he thrust two long fingers into her wet heat. A strangled moan escaped her lips as he filled her, her back arching. He could barely breathe, barely think, his mind focused on nothing but the sweet taste of her cunt and sound of her moans.

“Stop,” she gasped. “Take me. Take me now.” 

Needing no further encouragement, he withdrew her fingers from her cunt, the skin glistening in the moonlight. He caressed her hip, the two fingers that had been inside her trailing wetly across the hard curve of it. She was slim, lithe, with a pleasing fullness to her hips and breasts. His cock twitched at the sight of his hand, large and pale, pressed against the soft flesh of her belly. A rush of heat shot through him at the thought of more than merely regaining his voice. At the thought that his seed may take root within her, make her round and full and his. 

Severus closed his eyes, his head falling forward to rest against her chest as he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying desperately to regain his composure. Hands shaking, he fumbled at the buttons of his trousers, gasping softly as he released his aching cock from its tight confines. His breath hitched as he stroked once, twice, his grip slick with the remnants of Hermione’s arousal. 

Trembling, he pressed himself bodily against her, captured her lips, silenced her chanting. She tasted of honey and cinnamon and magic. It was almost enough to make him come there and then, spill his seed over the soft flesh of her thighs. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. 

Breathing deeply, he entered her in one powerful stroke, sheathing himself to the hilt. He felt her moan against his lips, her nails racking across his ribs, trailing sparks in their wake. Magic thrummed hotly in his veins, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. It was more intoxicating than anything he’d ever known. With every thrust, he could feel the magic pulling him deeper, the last vestiges of his control spiralling away until he no longer knew where he ended and Hermione began. 

He teased her clit with the pad of his thumb, the firm touch making her keen softly into the cool night air. He heard her breathing quicken, her muscles vice-like around him, his cock buried deep within her as he stroked the sensitive bundle of nerves with his hand. 

“Severus!”

A flash of white hot arousal knifed through him at the sound of his name on her lips. He felt her contract around him, heard the cry of her release. Severus bit his lip, thrusting deeply at the sensation, drawing a low, ragged moan from her slack mouth. His fingers wound their way into her hair, the wet strands silky and smooth in his grip. 

He was close. He could feel the burn of his impending orgasm deep in his stomach. Almost mindless in his pleasure, he rolled her hips with each forceful thrust, his thick cock striking her deeply. Sweat beaded across his pale skin, mingling with the rain. 

Suddenly, Hermione pressed her lips to the scar on his neck and Severus’ mind went blank. He tilted his head to the side, a bolt of white-hot pleasure coursing through him as he felt her tongue slide wetly over the raised tissue.

 _”Mæla [4],”_ she whispered against his skin. 

Her teeth grazed against him and he came in a roar of magic and feeling, her name on his lips. 

“Hermione!” 

A guttural groan left lips as his orgasm crested. He could feel wave after wave of power, magic, wash over him, the sensation pushing him higher. Too high. He felt his brain begin to shut down with the sheer pleasure of it. His arms gave out beneath him and he fell heavily upon Hermione’s prone form, almost boneless. He tried to push himself up onto his forearms, but they didn’t seem to be cooperating. 

A few moments later, Severus felt two strong hands push upon his shoulders, rolling him sideways onto the grass. Lazily, he opened his eyes, Hermione’s face swimming into focus beside him.

She was smiling. 

“It worked,” she whispered, her voice raw. “It worked, Severus.” 

Severus returned her smile with a small one of his own, feeling inexplicably shy. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. 

Hermione’s smile broadened to a grin. Slowly, she rolled onto her back, tucking the sodden locks of her hair behind her ear. 

“What now?” she asked. 

He placed a trembling hand on the curve of her stomach, his thumb brushing gently over the jut of her hip. 

A question.

“We wait,” she said, placing her hand on top of his. 

Severus looked up at the sky. The rain had stopped; the storm clouds had vanished, leaving nothing but the moon and a patchwork of twinkling stars above them. All around him he could hear the soft whisper of the trees as they swayed in the breeze. The air was warm, pleasantly so, filled with the sweet scent of moonflowers and evening primrose.

“What now?” he asked. 

She flashed him a wicked grin.

“Anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: 
> 
> 1\. [Hail to the earth]  
> 2\. [Growth in the earth]  
> 3\. [Strength in the body]  
> 4\. [Speak]


End file.
